Thorned Rose
by Silver Orbed Lioness
Summary: Trios Sixth Year: Rabastan Lestrange is like any other and has to purchase gifts for the Yule Tide season. Whilst browsing he witnesses a witch crying, then finds out she is a Slytherin and comforted by none other than Gryffindor Prefect Hermione Granger, he is immediately taken by her. So much so it may lead to questioning everything he'd ever been told. More within...


**AN:** This is unbeta'd - I cannot seem to keep hold of one, so I am sorry in advance that this may seem ineligible to read.

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 **Pairings** : Hermione/Rabastan; Molly/Arthur; Harry/Ginny; Ron/Lavender; Blaise/Luna; Ron/Pansy - Others to be decided

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 **Triggers** : Forbidden love, love triangles, cross-generational love, inter-racial love, spying, betrayal, angst, romance, thriller.

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 **FANCAST** :

 **Rabastan Lestrange** : Tom Hiddleston

 **Rodolphus Lestrange** : Rufus Sewell

 **Daphne Greengrass** : Georgie Henley

 **Arthur Weasley** : Duncan Preston

 **Kingsley Shacklebolt** : Paterson Joseph

 **Narcissa Malfoy** : Joley Richardson

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 **THORNED ROSE**

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Beauty with brains - missing something -  
Say...are you the one?... **are you the one?**

Someone is perfect for you (when Mars meets Venus)  
Do you wanna bet your life  
They're gonna be perfect for you too? (Mars meets Venus)...

 **Here's looking at you.**

Duran Duran

 **THE FINE LINE**

 **Flourish and Blotts**

 **Hogsmeade**

 **November 1996**

It is often said that there is a fine line between love and hate. That opposites attract. Also, it is oft quoted that single rich men are tenaciously hunting for wives. The problem with that was it only applied to the elder brothers of fine estates to acquire the immense wealth, the best estates, the bride and the babies. The 'spare' was left out of much, having to resort to touch his sibling for a pouch of galleons. A simple task one would assume, one that required loyalty to one's family, however; when ones older sibling is married to a mad hellcat, simplicity was forgotten.

So, here he was. Reduced to browsing through the second-hand bookshelves and shops for the upcoming season's gifts, (which were sure to be ignored because his sister-in-law bent Rodolphus' ear swaying the elder against the younger's petition for the key to the vault), forcing the younger to dip into whatever meagre savings he'd acquired of his own little schemes and investments. Of course, what is meagre to one is a fortune to another. The Weasley's certainly would not complain, but to a man of expensive tastes such as he, loved to surround himself with only the highest quality and the loveliest possessions. He surrounded himself with items of exquisite flamboyancy and quality. He would never be seen with, or consider a witch that did not, meet his exacting standards.

As he was not completely in with his brother's nephew he did not know this was a Hogsmeade weekend. So, he had to stay off the radar. Hiding his face beneath a wide, black cowl, so as not to raise suspicions or alarms. After all, even the bad guys had to buy Christmas presents. Hence, he had to duck in the farthest corner of any establishment he entered.

Currently, he was in Scribes and Scrolls bookshop in Hogsmeade. The village just down the hill, (or up, wherever you are looking from), from Hogwarts – first bastion of their world. There was only one word to describe this shop and that was: Character. Books lay higgledy-piggledy all around the walls, floors and tables. The slightly musty scent of ancient tomes, pervaded the entire room, the redolence becalmed the Death Eater. It was rather poky but the only place he felt he could hide.

Whilst he was in a particularly dark and dusty spot he heard the sound of sniffles and tears. He turned around to the sight of a little girl crying in the opposite corner. Her knees were up, with tiny arms wrapped around her legs – her face buried in her shaking body. All he could see through a light drizzle of dust that floated and caught the light was a mass of raven black curls, and what he could only describe as slightly podgy build. Why was she crying in the corner of a cramped, old book store? She was either a small third year, or a runaway first year.

Suddenly, a small paternal instinct roared inside him that felt like a niggling constant burn in his gut. He did not know who she was or what house she was sorted in. Not that the latter would matter. Rabastan shook his head and sighed. Rodolphus had accused him of losing his inner darkness. That Azkaban had turned his heart to jelly, rather than toughening him up, it softened his disposition. The girl snuffled rather loudly. No longer was he the gregarious, but deadly youth, he was before.

The ache in his heart soon left him as he continued his book hunt. As he was hunting through a pile of tomes his mind drifted back to the upset girl. Then he found a book that seemed vaguely interesting, so he languidly perused the contents. His concentration waned rather when he heard two older girls voices.

So did the crying girl in the corner. The man watched the child shuffle on her bottom to bury herself further in the shadow. When the voices got closer, the girl stilled.

"Rhiannon, are you all right?"

Rabastan's ears perked up. Rhiannon? He knew that name from somewhere. The concerned female's voice awoke something in him that he felt was long dormant. A warmth in her tone caused his heart to speed up and he dropped the book he was holding quietly so as not to alert his presence to them.

However, the kindness evident in the older girl's tone did little to draw Rhiannon out of her self-imposed misery. She continued to snuffle in her clothes, refusing to be coaxed out. Cautiously, he watched for any sign of interest from the younger girl to the older. Now he was closer he recognised the two witches as some of the ones that he, Lucius, Rodolphus, Bellatrix, Dolohov and Jugson were chasing through the Department of Mysteries. The red-haired witch could only be a Weasley; he tilted his head, she was quite pretty, he thought, but his attention caught sight of her friend.

"Hermione, we'll miss Dean and Seamus."

"Ginny, I am not going to date Seamus just because your brother is being a prat," Hermione sighed.

"Dean's said Seamus has been looking forward to it."

"Tell them I will join you later."

"You shouldn't be out on your own."

"It is a bookshop, Ginny, nothing bad ever happens in a…"

"Malfoy gave me that diary in a book shop," Ginny hissed. "Please, Hermione, you know we have a buddy system for a reason."

"I will be fine, Ginny. I am at the age of majority – technically I should have been taught Apparition over the summer but wasn't." _Hmm, interesting_ , Rabastan thought, surely members of the hippy organisation otherwise known as the Order would have managed to fast-track those lessons for _her_. Now he listened more intently for signs of dissatisfaction on her side. "Leave me while I look after Rhiannon. She's more vulnerable than I am."

Quietly, Rabastan observed as the one called Ginny had softened her expression. She patted the wild-haired brunette on the shoulder. The girls seemed to have been having a non-verbal conversation that eluded all men. Eventually whatever subtext Hermione had implied, Ginny understood and nodded. Her own eyes slightly tearing as she glanced down at the quivering girl cowering from them. The sight brought flashbacks of her first year to mind when she was left alone or suddenly found herself in parts of the castle she did not know existed, covered in all sorts of bodily fluids, feathers, and mud.

"All right, Hermione, be careful."

"I will, Ginny."

Reluctantly, Ginny had slowly departed from the shop, throwing several small anxious glances Hermione's way during her exit. These two were clearly good friends, he saw how they worked as a team. Rabastan followed Ginny's gaze back to Hermione

When she was left alone with Hermione, Rhiannon peeked cautiously through her wild dark curls. Once she was certain Hermione was on her own, Rhiannon then lifted her head properly. He was startled by the bluest eyes he had ever seen. Warm, dark sapphire eyes framed by perfect eyebrows, a slightly squashed nose but wide lips, yes she was a bit chubby was the polite way to put it, overall though the girl was not a complete disaster.

"What's the matter, Rhiannon?" Hermione had asked gently. He crept closer, so he could hear what the girl was going to say as she seemed like a soft-spoken child. "Come on, I'm a prefect, I am here to help you have never been shy around me before."

"B-but I-I am a S-S-Slytherin," Rhiannon stuttered in a soft welsh accent. "W-w-why w-would…"

"Why wouldn't I help you?" Hermione said. "Tell me, what's happened to make you hide in a bookshop sobbing."

"I've been made fun off for being fat," she said as she wiped the tears from her puffy eyes. "I do _try_ and lose weight – I do not eat much at all."

To his shock Hermione sat on the floor right next to the Slytherin child. She shocked him further when she extended her arm and wrapped it around Rhiannon's shoulders pulling her in a warm embrace. He could not blame the girl for accepting Hermione's mothering affections. Not when she had spell-bound him so completely with her forgiving kindness. There was no mistaking how comforting Rhiannon found her as she rested her head against Hermione's heart.

"It's not right that someone as pretty as you should be seen with a pudge like me."

"You're not pudgy," Hermione said. "It's puppy fat. That's all. You will grow out of it. Besides," the older girl turned and rested her cheek on Rhiannon's head, squeezing her more into her arms. "I am not a work of art myself."

"I think you're pretty," Rhiannon sniffed. "Boys look at you, you know. No one would look at me."

"You're 13, Rhiannon, give it time."

"Did you have boys at 13?"

Hermione laughed and Rabastan loved how refreshingly warm her laughter sounded, like cool rain after a hot day, it washed him in relief. He held in his breath, conveying too much interest for the answer, probably more than a man of his age should be. Hermione was young enough to be his daughter. There was _at least_ 25 years between them, after all, but she was of age. She was 17, if she admitted she could have apparated over the summer if she was taught to do so was any indication.

"At 13 I was brewing Polyjuice Potion to find out who the heir of Slytherin was – confused human for cat hair," Rabastan winced. That was terrible. He should know, he made the same mistake when he had to brew it as a student. Only, in his case, it was dog hair. "Then I was petrified by the monster of Slytherin."

"Who were you trying to change into?"

"My friends and I were trying to be Crabbe, Goyle and Bulstrode."

Rhiannon shifted her warm body and looked up into Hermione's eyes: "Who were you trying to get answers out of?"

"Draco."

"That would not have worked," Rhiannon said. "Malfoy brags but is all mouth and no trousers."

That made Hermione giggle into Rhiannon's hair: "See," she said to Rhiannon, "now you're happy. Come on, lets get you up off the floor – now, when some bitch calls you names again you turn to them and say: I'm not fat, I'm thick skinned."

"All right, if you say so," Rhiannon sighed. She allowed Hermione to help her to her feet then she wrapped her arms tightly around Hermione's waist. Her head resting on Hermione's breasts. It seemed Rhiannon was going to be a tall girl, Rabastan thought, so Hermione's summation of puppy fat was rather accurate. Hermione hugged back. "Oh, thank you, Hermione. You _always_ know what to say to me."

Hermione held Rhiannon in a tight squeeze before letting go slightly, her hands on the welsh witch's upper arms and lowered herself on her knees in front of her so that Rhiannon was the taller one. Rhiannon's eyes, something that would make her a true beauty a few years from now, Rabastan thought. Now, though, his attention was purely on Hermione's open, true, and beautiful porcelain face. Her erratic curls framed her doll-like countenance. She really did look like a Victorian painting brought to life. Her honest, earnest, yet intelligent tawney eyes, hit arrows straight to his soul with her unawares.

"Rhiannon Kendrick, you were sorted in Slytherin. Do the serpent proud. Stab your bullies in the back, don't get caught, and for goodness sake – do not ever repeat what I am about to tell you because it could be misconstrued as treason: I _do not care_ where the bullies come from but give back _twice_ what you get. You are a woman in a patriarchal society – you have to learn how to fight. Who of your house do you most want to be?"

"Narcissa Malfoy," Rhiannon whispered.

"Do you think she would be found in a dusty, shadowed corner of a bookshop crying?"

"No," Rhiannon said.

"Damn right!" Hermione exclaimed warmly. Rabastan's breath caught in his throat at the fire in her expression. "Who else do you admire in Slytherin?"

"Professor Snape," Rhiannon said. "He's clever, powerful, and I find him sexy."

"Hmm," Hermione smirked. "I think so too," her eyes misted over. Rabastan wondered what the grease paws did to earn, not only her trust, but that dreamy look which seemed incongruous on her. "Don't tell anyone else that," she sighed. She violently shook her head as if to clear it. "Back on topic," she said now back to her usual staunch self. "Watch him, observe and emulate him – what he does, you do. You can only learn to be great from greatness. I may not be Professor Snape's favourite, but he is the one teacher I respect the most, though I obviously hold bias towards Professor McGonagall. Anyone else you like?"

"You," Rhiannon blushed.

"No, you cannot mirror me in the Slytherin common room. You should think of someone else."

Rhiannon smiled as Hermione stood up to her feet, the girl wrapped her arms around her again. He watched as Hermione threaded her hands in Rhiannon's hair.

"Are you related to the Blacks, Rhiannon?"

"No, why?"

"No reason," Hermione sighed. "Now, I want you to walk out of this shop with me – I will take you to Honeydukes and buy you a bag of sweets, anything you want. You then go back to the school and rest, once you have consumed your sweets I want you to write down what you like about yourself. Even if it is only one item, it's a start."

The raven-haired witch nodded and giggled then she said something that completely floored Rabastan: "You are the nicest Gryffindor I have ever met. You listen. You are supposed to hate us."

"I _never_ do what I am supposed to do," Hermione smirked.

Rhiannon giggled shyly: "I like your hugs," she said. "You give the best hugs – I hereby dub thee, Queen of Hugs."

"I dub thee Princess of Smiles," Hermione smiled back.

"You should have been a Hufflepuff," Hermione sighed sadly.

Rabastan could not help but agree. Not only did he remain silent. He also made sure he was covered from their sight as he walked out, following them at ten paces behind. Rhiannon had reminded Hermione of her promise for sweets, so he kept an even step, following them up the twisting hill to Honeydukes.

With practised ease and surreptition he made certain neither witch had any cause to look behind them. Once they reached the friendly looking storefront, he walked over the road and found a convenient place to stand and spy. Thankfully, Hogsmeade was full of little nooks and crannies to hide in. So, there he stood in the shadows observing the pair through the window of the shop. His keen eyes watched Hermione bring out a bag of galleons, Muggles they may be, but they clearly had lucrative careers. No doubt that pouch was just a smidgeon of what she could bring to him in a marriage.

Another part of what was attractive about her. If she was a Pureblood of any order, he could have asked his brother to petition for her hand, but life's cruel love for irony had to make the most fascinating witch he'd ever met, the three things that would likely cause Rodolphus to offer a stern no.

Mudblood, Gryffindor, and too close to Dumbledore for comfort. None of these things deterred him from observing Hermione as she took her nicely wrapped set of sweets in lovely bags from the smiling barely out of school Sales Wizard who was clearly trying to flirt with Hermione, for some reason that set his teeth on edge. She handed Rhiannon the box of ice mice that was obviously Miss Kendrick's favourite, her own purchases clutched in her hands.

When Hermione had found an older Slytherin looking around purposelessly, she gave him one by asking him to take Rhiannon back to the castle. The fifth year sneered at being told what to do by the worst sort of Gryffindor. Still, he could see even he was not truculent enough to ignore a direct command. Rabastan rolled his eyes, she was more Slytherin than that lout was!

Once she was alone, she crossed the cobbled road closer to him, she was a few feet in front of him. Her perfume wafted over, and he breathed in her aroma. He shrunk back in the shadows waiting for her to pass him. However, his resolve slackened when Hermione was so tantalisingly close to him, that all he had to do was reach out for her hand and pull her into the shadows with him. When she was a few steps ahead of him that was exactly what he had done. A delightful little squeal of surprise left her lovely lips. She gathered her wits quickly enough to bring her wand out and dig it into the throat of her assailant. She felt the bob as the unseen person swallowed down some saliva. Immediately, she went into duel mode, the way Professor Snape had taught her. She gasped when fingers wrapped around her vine wood weapon, eyes widened as he lowered it away from his throat.

"I have been watching you for the best part of an hour now, you do not need to defend yourself against me," he said.

"I know your voice," she murmured, hiding her panic as she did not wish to cause panic and pandemonium on this fine early autumn day. "Show yourself."

He decided to step into the light, lowering the hood of his cowl. When he was too close for a duel to happen she perceived no threat, that did not mean she had let her guard down completely, she just assumed a relaxed stance. Hermione did not realise her mistake, he did though and he smirked that now he had made sure she was closer to him by doing so. The girl's eyes widened to the size of galleons as she took him in.

"Lestrange!" she gasped.

"One of them," he replied with a smirk – his green eyes sparkled in the late autumn sun, they were more teal than green. "I mean you no harm," he confirmed. "You helped a lonely Slytherin child, you told her to make the serpent proud. Why?"

"Because Salazar Slytherin is just as great and just as much the founder of Hogwarts as Godric Gryffindor is – the fact that the three remaining founders kept the house after he abandoned them proves he was respected by them despite their differences. I wish to emulate them."

"The Kendrick's are not part of the sacred-28 but they are important. They would most likely wish to reward you for showing their daughter kindness."

"I am not _kind_ for gain. I am _kind_ for kindness sake."

"Admirable," he purred. "They will still insist on rewarding you, it is the Slytherin mantra," he tilted his head to the side scrutinising her with thorough attention. "Please do remind me who you are again?"

"Miss Granger to you," she said a little huskily. He smirked a little pleased he had not lost his touch. She coughed to bring her voice back to normal. "So, you are a Lestrange, but you are clearly not Bellatrix. I doubt she'd barely be able to conceal her dislike of me – which leads me to the conclusion that you are one of the brothers."

"I am almost offended you do not recognise me," he stepped closer towards her. Warily, he reached to brush her hair further away from her face, so he could see all of her. Oh, she was a pretty thing! Quite attractive. He could spend the rest of his lifetime endeavouring to compose poetry for every different fleck of colour he spotted in her expressive, doe-like eyes. "There have been posters of me adorning the walls of the streets in this country for well over a year now."

She gulped: "Ra-Rabastan," she whispered.

"The one and the same," he picked her hand up, clicked his heels together and bowed at the waist to offer her respect as he raised her curved fingers to his lips and left a lingering kiss just below the joint. "Does that frighten you, _mon petit minou_?"

"No," her heart fluttered as her breathing faltered. She knew what he'd just called her and his deep voice uttering the sweet endearment in one of the most romantic languages she knew did cause her knees to buckle _slightly._ "Um, er – look, it was nice meeting you in normal er – normal," she coughed as the words were tangling themselves in knots around her tongue. "Normal, er, circumstances, sir."

Rabastan chuckled, she could feel it vibrate through the soles of her feet. Tenderly, he used the stunned state to get even closer: "It is a shame that you are who you are, and I am the way I am. I feel for sure you and I would have made a competent match. All I shall be left with is this one precious memory where I was the most fortunate man to gaze upon Aphrodite in her purest form. May I also accompany you to the castle for safety. It shall be dark soon."

"Er, um…"

Fortuitously for Hermione, Neville Longbottom stormed up to the pair. It was evident to Rabastan that Hermione had never witnessed such ferocity in his face before. He remained his usual stoic self in the face of the young Gryffindor male's anger. Allowing himself a flutter of eyelids in slight shock he, otherwise, furled his lips in a sneer and tried to ignore the boy.

"Behind me, Hermione."

"I am pretty certain _Miss Granger_ can look after herself," Rabastan leered at the boy. What was wrong with proper etiquette? "Put your wand away, you don't want to cause panic, do you? I am only here to purchase gifts for the up and coming season. I bid you adieu, Mademoiselle," he directed a florid bow in Hermione's direction causing her to blush, especially as he had managed to capture her delicate, caring hands in his, raising them to his lips he pressed them hard against her flesh making sure she would feel the imprint for the rest of the day. "As I said, it is a shame we are who we are, _mon petit minou_."

Neville stood tall in front of Hermione, so the Death Eater was face-to-face with the young man's dark navy duffel jacket. Slowly, Rabastan stood up keeping his sneer firmly plastered on his features, marking his contempt for Longbottom's unwanted presence.

"You best leave, Lestrange," Neville hissed. "Before _someone_ gets hurt."

"Ha, as if you are powerful enough to even put a _dent_ in my little finger, Longbottom," he said coolly. "I have been with your friend for over an hour – I do not have any ill-will against her nor have I against you – I need to go now."

"If I see you so much as _wink_ at Hermione, you're toast."

Rabastan rolled his eyes at the idle threat, it was then he noticed the boy's stance slacken as Rabastan felt a hand on his shoulder. He warily turned around to be faced with the coal angry stare of Severus Snape.

"A word, Lestrange," he said darkly.

Rabastan sighed. He may be able to put a front for Neville Longbottom but there was something about the way Severus was acting that made him realise that he was not about to get his way.

As Snape led him away from the teens he barked at both of them to stop littering the path. Neville scowled as he took Hermione's hand in his and led her to the warm safety of the Three Broomsticks. Surreptitiously, Severus was carefully watching as Mr Longbottom stand up to one of his parents tormentors, to also make sure Hermione was behind him and continue his offensive stance racketed respect points in Snape's head. When he realised Longbottom was not going to argue and complied with his order he mentally praised the boy for knowing when to withdraw. In complying with his orders, the young buffoon was protecting _her_ ; repayment for all the times she stood up for him, he supposed, he was pleased to see the mature growth in the lad. Somehow, he now wished he _was_ the Boy Who Lived.

"What did you think you were doing flirting with Miss Granger?" he snarled.

"She showed a great deal of character – Do you know Miss Rhiannon Kendrick?"

"A third year under my care."

"She is being bullied by fellow Slytherins, she was crying in a shadowed corner of an old bookshop, _Snape_. Miss Granger showed how big her heart was when she sat on the floor and told her to be Slytherin back. She impressed me with how she dealt with her."

"What did she do?" Snape asked.

"She asked the child who, in Slytherin, she admired the most. She listened. Severus, she _listened_!"

"She's always been a bleeding heart, like all Gryffindors."

"Not all Gryffindors," Rabastan sighed. "Severus, she is beautiful…" suddenly Rabastan found himself flung against the wall with Snape snarling in his face. Severus had gathered his cravat so tightly in his fists that Rabastan was choking. "Wh-a-a-t?"

"You better have a care, Rabastan, that you keep your eyes averted as far as she is concerned."

Understanding dawned in Rabastan's eyes and his mouth twisted in a smirk. This made Severus step back a little, thus loosening his grip on the other man's silken scarf. The hook-nosed fellow stepped further back as his arms dropped awkwardly back to his sides.

"This is priceless," Rabastan sneered, "the black-hearted, grimly countenanced Severus Snape has a soft spot for the little witch…don't you? How precious."

"I have to put on a pre…"

"Spare me, Severus, I know who you truly are. I know who you _really_ are fighting for," his tone became a threat. "So," Rabastan said as he straightened his cravat. "You best not interfere, or I will give ear to the Dark Lord that you plan on taking Draco's part – and I have a suspicion that Dumbledore knows. I am not idiotic, Severus…For my silence you let me pursue that little rose. I must stake my claim for when we win. There's a good boy."

Severus snarled as Rabastan patted him on the back in a gesture of faux-comradery. Good boy, Rabastan knew those two words would irk him the most. His past response to them were: _Go do one, Lestrange_ , _I am not your puppy_. Now, all he got was the lip curl of disdain.

"She is off-limits, Lestrange, do you hear me?"

"You _had_ to say that didn't you," Rabastan smirk grew wider. Almost shark like in its decadent desires. "Shouldn't have, you know, I was prepared to leave her be but," he shook his head and sighed. " _Off-limits_ …tut tut, Severus, my curiosity is fed now, so I bid you good day. Remember," he said as he grabbed Severus bicep, forcing the other man to glance into his now turquoise glare. "Nothing or no-one is _off-limits_ to me. I do hope you will allow me my pursuit of the bright, compassionate, sweet witch."

With that Rabastan pushed Snape harshly almost causing the normally elegant man to tumble on the pavement. "Damn you, Lestrange, damn you to hell."

"We are already in a hell of our own making," Rabastan said calmly before he smoothly twirled and disapparated in front of Severus.

* * *

When he was back in the extensive grounds of Châteaux Lestrange he saw his brother walking around the overgrown and unkempt wild gardens. Snarls of brambles could easily tear their clothes apart if they got too close. A gnarled, twisted twig snagged on his wrist and a thorn dug into the soft flesh of the heel of his thumb, he winced and suckled the spots of blood clean off his skin. He side-stepped in through the welcoming gates and smiled up at his morose looking brother.

Rodolphus seemed a little perturbed by the appearance of his younger brother in the middle of the garden. Why that should be surprised Rabastan. It is not like he was a party animal. He'd rather a good glass of wine from their vineyard, a brilliant Magical Murder Mystery by his favourite author: N.E Farum, and a cat or three to stroke by a warm fire. Although, he mused, the only pussy he would now like to tend to was situated between Hermione Granger's no doubt shapely legs.

"I do hope you did not purchase anything, Rabastan," Rodolphus smiled at his younger brother, "I am surprised you did not ask for a pouch, you are entitled to your half of the fortune."

"What I desire cannot be bought by mere Galleons," Rabastan sighed, selfishly forgetting that he was meant to purchase gifts for other people. "How can I carry on without her?"

"Oh no, I know that look and that sigh," Rodolphus let some of the mirth slip from his eyes. His poetic brother had found his muse…again! "At least comfort me that she is intelligent?"

"Compassionate, kind, beautiful," Rabastan corrected. "I have met the _one_."

Rodolphus groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose: "So you claimed when you met Sophia, Harriet, Nimue, Felicity and…"

"Yes, yes, but they were nothing – none of them compared to the Hera I met today."

"Tell me you at least know her _name_ , brother."

When Rabastan was reluctant to answer Rodolphus narrowed his eyes and then groaned in despair. Whoever she was, it was someone Rabastan was not allowed to have. His scrutinising gaze could only discern so much before Rodolphus gave up. _All he could deduce_ , thought Rabastan comforting himself with the little reassurance he could, _was that she was someone in Hogsmeade since that is where I was._

"All you need to know, dear brother, is that this _someone_ is intelligent, clever, young enough to be fertile _and_ kind. A lot of things _your_ contracted bride aren't!"

The younger could see Rodolphus rolling his eyes, weary cynicism present in his stance. The ill-concealed hatred that Rabastan held for his wife was legendary and volatile. _Honestly_ , the younger Lestrange mused, he was lucky there was still a Châteaux standing where it had for over 1,000 years. Somewhere in the cellars was the original cornerstone of the ancient tribal chiefs hut that the house grew up on.

Hell, it was common knowledge that Rodolphus would be the first to disparage his wife, and complain about being married to her, which was why Rabastan had to grit his teeth when he was forced to defend her at meetings. When their father had found out that Cygnus had entrapped his older son with a barren witch he was infuriated and tried to annul the union, but Cygnus had bent the ear of their Lord and that was that.

"Just be careful, Rab, you know the rules – the family hon…"

"Spare me that pile of drivel. _Family honour_? If this family had any sense of _honour_ you'd not be stuck with that barren bitch of a wife. Pardon me if you have allowed the Hippogriff to trample your spirit on the ground underneath its cankerous hooves. I, however, will _not_ sit down and let them walk all over _me_. If our father had any sense of honour… _you_ would have been with Andromeda and _I_ would have Narcissa. So, if you will excuse me, I shall do what you should have and _dis_ honour the family by at least bringing a son to carry on this family's noble legacy."

"Oh, my Slytherin, she's a _Mudblood_ , isn't she?"

"Whatever, Rod," Rabastan sighed. "Better a half-blood heir than no heir at all."

"You're right but, be discreet, Rabs," he glanced up to look into his brother's blue eyes that were warm with true concern. "Whoever she is should also be advised to show caution, if you truly think she is the one I shall do all in my power to help you."

"Thank you, brother," Rabastan sighed. "I shall advise her to show appropriate awareness."

"That is all I can ask of you brother, but I do need to know who I am risking my neck for."

Rabastan sighed and glanced back up into his brother's face which still showed nothing but warmth and protection. He realised he had to tell the truth, if there was one person he refused to lie to it was his older brother. He rushed a hand through his thick dark locks and paced the gravel path agitatedly coughing and stuttering before he revealed whom it was that had irrevocably stolen his heart.

He thought back over his hour or so of watching her and talking to her. How lovely she looked in that emerald green cable sweater that had bobbled hearts on the sleeves and a rather complicated Celtic knot on the front. Her small neck swamped in a thick ruby red scarf. The sweater and scarf united as one on her head and hands as the twisting knot were in miniature on the back of her gloves and the bobbled hearts on the hat.

Fondly reminiscing how the Northern Scottish Winter had ruddied her cheeks and how they glowed when she smiled. The complexity of colours he found in her kaleidoscopic eyes. He sighed deeply as he thought of how her caramel curls tumbled down her back, spilling out of her hat in a bid for freedom, to show the wildness outwardly that she refused to do so with her otherwise goody-goody personality. All he desired to do when speaking to her was to wrap her in his arms and never let her go.

"The one whom my whole self agrees on entirely is," he gulped as he glimpsed his brother's impatience in the way he was fingering his wand, as if he was prepared to cast a Legilimens at him to gain the answer. " _All_ of mine, is Miss Granger!"

The string of invectives that flowed out of Rodolphus mouth conveyed exactly what his older brother thought of _that_. He knew he was in for an uncomfortable winter now with his revelation. Rodolphus sank on a little stone love-seat and covered his face in his hands and shook his head, his slur of curse words coming to a halt.

"Good gods, Rabastan, you had to pick that one, didn't you!"

* * *

 **AN** : Yes, he sure did. Winks. I was tempted to have Neville show absolute violence towards Rabastan but was told that may be out of character, however, with what is coming up in the plot he might be tempted to.

* * *

 **Also** : On AO3 I am running a LUMIONE fest called Elm and Vine Heartstrings - if you are Lumione shippers, want a story written, go in my profile and click on the Lumione Lover's link to find out more!


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